CHAPTER XXIII.
THE VERGE OF MORNING O to mount again where erst I haunted; Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted, And the low green meadows Bright with sward; And when even dies, the million-tinted, And the night has come, and planets glinted, Lo! the valley hollow, Lamp-bestarr'd.
-- R.L.S.
"I hope you like my things, Captain Claiborne!" Armitage stood a little in advance, his hand on Oscar's arm to check the rush of the little man.
Claiborne sheathed the sword, placed it on the table and folded his arms.
"Yes; they are very interesting." "And those ribbons and that cloak,--I assure you they are of excellent quality.

Oscar, put a blanket on this gentleman's horse.

Then make some coffee and wait." As Oscar closed the door, Armitage crossed to the table, flung down his gauntlets and hat and turned to Claiborne.
"I didn't expect this of you; I really didn't expect it.

Now that you have found me, what in the devil do you want ?" "I don't know--I'll be _damned_ if I know!" and Claiborne grinned, so that the grotesque lines of his soiled countenance roused Armitage's slumbering wrath.
"You'd better find out damned quick! This is my busy night and if you can't explain yourself I'm going to tie you hand and foot and drop you down the well till I finish my work.

Speak up! What are you doing on my grounds, in my house, at this hour of the night, prying into my affairs and rummaging in my trunks ?" "I didn't _come_ here, Armitage; I was brought--with a potato sack over my head.